Josh Beckett Doesn’t Give a Damn What His Stomach Says, He Came to Party

First of all, to respond to the previous post, I can assume, Denton, that you only watched the first inning? Because the Smoltz I saw from innings two through five had a remarkably low suck factor.

Of course, he’s no Commander Kick Ass. In fact, earlier this season, Commander Kick Ass himself was no Commander Kick Ass. But Beckett is clearly back in the groove. And last night, even as his stomach churned with what was likely Schlitz-induced intestinal distress, the Snarlin’ Marlin notched his sixth win in his last seven starts against the Braves, striking out six while, we can only assume, running to the can and bitch-slapping a Dale Murphy mannequin bewteen innings.

Meanwhile, the David Ortiz Sweet Revenge Tour rolled on, with Papi swatting another home run and getting me all dizzy with thoughts of just how spectacular this summer will be when he’s locked in full “decimate” mode. Hey, better to purge all the suck from your system in April and May than unleash it during those thick September nights when we clasp hands around the campfire and pray for a late-inning miracle.

This is what the best record in the American League tastes like, people. Savor it.